Isle of the Living Doomed
by Luke Skywaxer
Summary: Mary Ann, that's an unusual way to carry dangerous kitchen utensils," said Gilligan. Then his eyes got wide. Don't Drink the Water. Read and Review


_This is a Gilligan's Island fan fiction, rated T for graphic gore. I own the story, not the characters or setting. Enjoy, but BEWARE!_

**Chapter One: Pesky Mosquitoes**

Gilligan crashed through the jungle, listening to his favorite rock band on the portable radio. He just loved the "Mosquitoes." He had all their albums. There was something about their wild beat that could set his body afire. It just made him want to dance. He was grooving right now, in fact, and not really paying any particular heed to where he was going, as usual.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he chanted, and continued dancing through the jungle. His meandering wanderings eventually led him up an incline and straight toward a sheer drop-off of rock and eroded earth.

The cliff was one of those dangerous places on the island from which he had been warned to steer clear. Skipper had repeated it over and over, drilling the rule into his thick little skull: "Little Buddy, you are a potential suicide waiting to happen and that cliff has your name written all over it. Please, for your own safety, stay away from the cliff." Gilligan had tried to accept the advice, but he had never understood why he should be the only one who could not go near. There was such a good view from up there, and besides, it was the only place left on the island where he could find his special mind-reading sunflower seeds.

By the time Gilligan burst into the clearing just above the cliff and realized where he was it was too late. He surprised Skipper who happened to be standing near the edge in order to get a better view of the sea. Skipper often came up here when he thought Gilligan was safely in another part of the island. This was the best place for watching for ships, after all.

Gilligan tried to stop his forward momentum but his feet skidded on some loose gravel. There was nothing near enough to grab a hold of…except Skipper.

"Yeah, yeah…uh-oh, Skipperrrr!" He threw out the palms of his hands in time to plant them into the fat man's great back. The Skipper's bulk was enough to stop Gilligan's momentum and the boy righted himself, relieved that he hadn't gone over the cliff. But Oh NO! He watched in horror as the Skipper's surprised face turned back toward him, contorting, and the large man flailed uselessly for a second before leaving the edge.

"Gilligan! You didn't…didn't…didn't…" It was Skipper's final words. And in his last moments, it kind of looked like the fat man had begun taking off his hat to smack at Gilligan's head, but the blow never landed. The hat dropped uselessly at the boy's feet.

"Oops," said Gilligan as he looked over the edge at the carnage below. He would have to go and tell the others the gory news. Slowly, he bent down, picked up the hat, and the realization hit him. He was the skipper now. Gulping, he put the navy blue captain's hat on his own head and silently vowed to do the best job he possibly could. "Don't worry, Skipper, I won't let you down."

He turned on his heel, the irony of what he had just spoken lost on him, then ran off through the jungle again, carrying the radio which was still cranking out its unbeatable racket. And slowly the blue skipper hat worked its way down over Gilligan's eyes.

Running into camp, Gilligan didn't see a lounge chair which Mr. Howell had left in the path. It was too late. Gilligan went sailing through the air.

"Look out, Mr. and Mrs. Howell!"

Gilligan smashed into a small table holding a jug of lamp oil. Mr. Howell caught it as he staggered backwards into his wife. The lamp oil gushed all over both of the old codgers as they fell into the communal fire pit. With a terrific roar, bright orange flames leaped skyward around them.

Their eyes went wide. "Good heavens, Lovey! We've been seared!"

The fire leapt up around them, licking up their starchy clothing and burning them to death in seconds. It was a gruesome spectacle. Gilligan peeled up the bill of his cap and stared in horror.

"Oh no," said Gilligan. "First Skipper and now the Howells! Don't worry, Mr. and Mrs. Howell, I'll get help." He started to run one way and then the other. Usually Skipper was there to run into for just such a time as this, but now what? Finally he wasn't sure which way to go, so he stopped and looked at the Howells for some direction.

They just lay there, appearing ashen. A thick, black plume of smoke rose to his nostrils. Phew! They didn't smell too good, either.

"I'd better go tell Ginger, Professor, and Mary Ann the terrible news." He rushed off.

When Gilligan reached the scientist's hut, Professor was leaning over some beakers of chemicals and Bunsen burners. Gilligan slid through the door.

"Professor! Professor!"

"What is it, Gilligan? Slow down now and catch your breath. I'm in the middle of a very important discovery. You see? Look here." The Professor pointed Gilligan over to a microscope on the table.

"But Professor…" Gilligan had to stop and pant. "Skipper…He… was up on the…and then I…and whammo! And then I ran into the Howells…and then… And…Fwoosh! And the fire…and…"

"Gilligan, not now. You can tell me all about it in just a minute. Right now I need you to look into this microscope."

Gilligan couldn't believe it. Why did everyone always assume he didn't have anything important to say? He sighed and put his eye over the microscope. "Oh wow, Professor, there's a bunch of blobs, and that one dark little blob is attacking all the others." He squinted at the strange sight. "Hey, I think it's killing the other blobs, but they aren't really dying. Now they look like the first one, and now they're starting to attack other blobs as well."

"That's right, Gilligan. What you're seeing is a close up of a killer amoeba that I found in our drinking water supply just this morning. It has a unique method of reproducing itself, similar to that of a virus. It must have been present for days, perhaps even months, and we didn't know it. I placed it on a slide for viewing under the microscope and added a single droplet of my blood to see how it would react. As you can see, the results are horrifying. The fact is, Gilligan, we are probably all infected with the amoeba. It is a wonder we aren't all sick or dead by now. I must continue to study so that I can tell what long range effects this amoeba might have on our bodies."

"Well, Professor, for once you can't scare me. I always boil my drinking water."

"That's true, Gilligan, I may need a sample of your blood later on for comparison purposes in my research. Now, what is it you wanted to tell me?"

Gilligan remembered all the horrible things that had occurred outside the hut and was not sure where to begin. He started flailing his arms and talking very fast. As he spoke, he stepped closer and closer to the professor who backed further and further away from him.

"Gilligan, please! Your breath. You're within proximity of sharing contact germs and I can't concentrate on what you're saying. Also…have you been eating garlic?"

Before Gilligan realized it, he had backed Professor right into the flimsy bamboo experiment table. The professor tripped over the table which suddenly collapsed under his added weight. Vials of dangerous chemicals and breaking glass came crashing down upon him. He was dead from burns and loss of blood in a matter of only a few minutes.

"Uh-oh. Professor?" Gilligan peered over the table at the mess. "Oh, this is not good. This is really, really not good."

The terrified boy ran from the hut only to collide with Mary Ann who happened to be walking by on her way to find the Skipper to have him sharpen her kitchen knives. The two of them sprawled on the ground, and when Gilligan sat up, he was surprised to see Mary Ann had been impaled in several places with the various butcher knives, steak knives, paring knives and a barbecue prong.

"Mary Ann, that's a strange way to carry deadly kitchen utensils." Then his eyes got wide.

"No, Gilligan, I'm dying. For once, your bumbling has actually ended in someone's death. After all the close calls we've had on this island I always feared this might happen so I prepared myself and know just what to say. I forgive you because I could never do anything to make you feel badly, and I hope you live out a happy and rewarding life. Farewell, sweet Gilligan." Sincerely, the girl from Kansas with all the knife handles sprouting from her body and face fell over into the sand and expired.

Gilligan stood to his feet, shaking. "Oh no, Mary Ann, not you too!"

Now it was just down to him…and it was just down to Ginger. He held onto the bill of the skipper's hat as he ran toward her hut.

**Chapter Two: Run, Gilligan, Run!**

The movie star wasn't at home when he got there, but he eventually found her near the lagoon. She was taking a bath in a mud pit and only her head was exposed above the thick murky liquid.

"Hi, Gilligan," said the Redhead.

"Hi Ginger's head," he said, continuing to walk by. He froze. _Oh NO,_ he thought. _Ginger has been decapitated by head hunters! Now I'm the only one lef—. Wait a minute, that was another episode entirely._ He came back to the mud pit. "You can't fool me, Ginger. I know you're not really dead like everyone else." He clapped his hand over his mouth.

"What?" Ginger started to rise from the mud but then sank down again, remembering she needed her towel. "What did you say, Gilligan? Everyone else is what? I must have gotten mud in my ears. Could you be a dear and hand me my towel?"

So Gilligan sat down and told Ginger the entire short story from start to finish. Finally he ended by saying, "And to think, Skipper was right about that Mosquito music. 'It's got a witch-doctor-voodoo beat, Little Buddy,' he always used to say. 'It'll rot your mind and take your soul.' Now he's dead, and so is everybody else."

"Oh poor SkipPER, poor Millionaire and his wiiiife!" wailed Ginger. Her shoulders heaved in grief. It made her words come out in a sing-songy way. She looked streaked and blotchy in the mud she was wearing.

"Don't forget: poor Professor AND poor Mary ANN," added Gilligan. He hated it when anyone was excluded, especially in song. That would be really tragic. "Now everybody is dead and it all started because of me listening to this stupid radio. Boy, I never want to see it again." He got up and readied his arm to toss the radio into the lagoon.

"No wait!" said Ginger and she managed to get the towel around her. She rushed to his side and took the radio. "It is, after all, our only link to the rest of the world. And…" She couldn't help it, she batted her eyelashes a few times. "…it looks like we'll be stranded here forever, just the two of us, until we get rescued."

"You mean 'if' we ever get rescued. I'll bet the others all thought they'd be rescued someday, too. Now they're _dead_."

"Gilligan, stop saying that word. You're going to make me cry." The Redhead's lip quivered a little.

Before she could carry out her threat, however, an ungodly moan floated across the beach to them from the jungle. Gilligan and Ginger shared a bewildered glance.

"What was that?" said Ginger.

"It sounded like the Skipper! Hey, maybe he survived after all!"

The boy started to move toward the voice, but Ginger held him back. They looked, and out of the jungle staggered a large, fat figure in blood-splattered once-white trousers. Wisps of blond hair streamed in the breeze from a broken head. Its arms jutted stiffly out in front as it came toward them. The thing got nearer and they could see intestines billowing past broken ribs from a gaping impact wound in its gut. A single word emitted from its swollen and blackened throat. "Gilligannnnn…"

Ginger screamed and hid behind Gilligan. "Ohhhh! I saw this in a movie once. Skipper has returned to life as a zombie. He is coming for you, Gilligan, to exact his revenge. Run, Gilligan! Run!"

Gilligan screamed and leapt into the girl's arms. She was not prepared and they both fell to the sand with Ginger's towel nearly coming off. Skipper's corpse continued lurching toward them. Gilligan and Ginger got up and scampered off into the jungle together.

The fat corpse stopped, looked puzzled for a second, then whirled and staggered awkwardly after them. This was a tiny isle, after all, and he would never again get tired. Slowness only built up the anticipation. Eventuality was on his side…

**Chapter Three: Voodoo Curse**

The camp was strangely deserted when they reached it. No sign of the Howells or anyone. Professor was no longer in his hut, though the shards of broken glass and blood were still there to support Gilligan's tale. Mary Ann's body was missing as well.

"Gilligan, you didn't tell me you already buried everyone."

"I didn't tell you that because I didn't."

"Then where is everyone?" Ginger's eyes got wide. "Say, you don't think what happened to Skipper, happened to…You don't think they…uh…"

The hair on the backs of their necks began to stand on end, and the two of them turned slowly, looking furtively into the jungle. Just then a collective moan erupted in the rustling undergrowth nearby. Ginger and Gilligan gasped as the living dead came staggering out of the jungle toward them: The Howells with their melanized skin; Mary Ann and her dangling, wagging protrusions. And here came the Professor looking acid burned, bloody, and silvery-eyed. All of them were muttering the same three-syllable thing with arms outstretched. "Gillligggannnnn…"

Ginger screamed.

"Don't faint, Ginger," said Gilligan, patting her hand. "You have to be around to carry me to safety." His eyes rolled back in their sockets and he promptly fainted into her arms.

--- --- ---

When he awakened, Ginger was holding his head and dabbing at his face with a corner of her towel. She looked terrible with mud now dried to her skin, except for the streaks where her tears had washed it away. Gilligan stretched, yawned, and looked around him. His hand struck the radio and he picked it up.

"Where are we? I just had the most terrible dream."

"We're in a cave, and that was no dream. Those horrible creatures are still out there, combing the island for us."

"No, I had a different dream," said Gilligan, "there was this motorcycle, see? And this bear from the circus was…"

"Never mind, Gilligan, it isn't important right now."

Gilligan sulked for a minute. Why did everyone always assume he never had any good terrible dreams?

"How do you suppose all of this happened," said Ginger. She hugged her knees and buried her face in the crooks of her arms. "In the movies I've seen there's always some kind of scientific reason for the dead coming back to life."

"Not the ones I've seen. It's always voodoo. That's what Skipper would say if he were here. Voo Doo."

"Oh poopoo on Skipper's voodoo."

"Ginger, that's disgusting." He sulked some more.

"I'm sorry, Gilligan, but we have to put our heads together. Try to remember, did the professor say anything to you about possible reasons for why this could happen?"

"Nope. He was just doing experiments and kept wanting me to look in his dumb microscope. He didn't even care when I tried to tell him Skipper and the Howells were dead."

"Maybe there's some way to reverse it. But we have to know what's going on first."

Gilligan got to his feet. "I'll tell you what's going on, Ginger. We're stuck in a cave on an island full of killer zombies walking around out there wanting to eat us. That's what's going on." He thought about it for a minute and then added, "And so much for the professor and his science. The best he could ever do was take credit for my ideas until things went bad and then blame it on me. Him and his stupid microscope with killer amoebas and blood samples."

Ginger stood up. "Gilligan, that's it! You did it. Oh, I could kiss you."

"Nnnoooo!" Gilligan ran from the cave, still clutching the radio. There was only one thing scarier than five zombies on the hunt for his warm flesh, and that was a half naked Redhead who wanted to kiss him. He ran through the jungle and found himself heading for the cliff.

**Chapter Four: The Rescue**

Gilligan knelt beneath the mind-reading bush, slightly hidden from sight in the dense foliage. From this position on the cliff, even with the darkening sky he still had a good view of the sea. He was hoping for a ship to come by. Or a plane overhead. Yeah, a plane would do nicely, too, if only he could somehow get it to spot him. Then he and Ginger could be rescued from the zombies.

The radio buzzed incessantly with music from the Mosquitoes and other insect-nomenclature-sounding rock bands. Suddenly a voice broke into the cadence:

_We interrupt this program for a special Medical Alert bulletin from Honolulu. Several cases of a strange island sickness have been documented in some of the remote islands to the southeast. Be on the alert for the following symptoms if you are traveling. Those infected develop a cold and clammy skin condition. Eyes may appear milky or grey. And in some cases an unusual form of insanity has been observed connected with the sickness. Island madness may cause a craving for biting. We repeat, 'biting.' Take every precaution necessary to avoid being bitten, and report any unusual behavior to the proper authorities immediately. Again, report symptoms immediately to your local law enforcement or the Medical board in Honolulu. We now return to normal programming._

Gilligan yawned and turned the radio up a notch when the music resumed. Alert bulletins were so boring. As if any of it pertained to himself or the other castaways. How could he report anything to Honolulu, even if he wanted to? Ha ha ha.

The sound of crunching footsteps disturbed his amusement. Gilligan's eyes went wide with fright. The crunching came nearer. Oh NO, he thought, it's a zombie! It must have heard the radio. The shadow of a figure walking with outstretched arms crept across the sand past his nose. Then he caught sight of some pale gray skin in the jungle. He closed his eyes tight and hoped it couldn't see him.

"Gillligannnn…!"

The boy opened his eyes. "Ginger?"

"Gilligan, where are you?" The Redhead appeared through the ferns, groping in the twilight to keep herself from tripping.

"I'm over here. By the cliff. Watch your step."

Ginger sat down next to him. "Boy, it gets dark early under the trees. I can see better out here on the cliff, though. Oh, what a beautiful view."

"I thought you were one of the zombies," said Gilligan, trembling. "Why haven't you washed that mud off?"

"Well, I'd love to get out of this old towel, too, my dear. But I'm not going back to camp with all of those things walking around. Please don't leave me again, Gilligan."

"Ginger, we have to have a plan. We can't hide forever."

"I know, and I think I've come up with something. I was in a scene in a movie once where I had to lure a dangerous giant gorilla into a trap. I think it might work on the zombies, but I'm not sure how they think or what they really want."

Gilligan listened with rapt attention. "Yeah? Well, I have just the thing." He sat up and began picking seeds from the bush above him."

"Uh, Gilligan, I am afraid zombies aren't interested in seeds. Wait a minute, are those what I think they are?" The Redhead's eyes lit up. "Your secret stash of mind-reading sunflower seeds? And to think we believed you destroyed all of the remaining bushes."

Gilligan gave her a handful of the seeds. "Take these. Now we can listen to the zombies' thoughts and figure out how to trap them."

They each put a seed in their mouths and began to chew.

"Gilligan!" said the Redhead, giving him a judgmental glare. "So! You wish I'd take my towel off!?"

"Yeah, and wash that mud off your skin while you're at it. You looked just like a dead zombie with cold grey skin stalking around in the jungle. There, I said it. And you know what I'm thinking so you know how scared and tiny I felt. But I'm still the Skipper and you'll do as I say." Gilligan tugged on the bill of his skipper's hat then gave a curt nod to emphasize how much he meant it. The cap promptly fell down over his eyes.

Ginger smiled. Good old Gilligan, he was still the same innocent boy as ever. "Hey," she said, "I think I can read their thoughts right now."

Gilligan pulled up the bill of the cap. "You can? What are they thinking?"

"You don't want to know," said the Redhead. "But I'll tell you because you're now the skipper and I know you can handle it. The zombies keep repeating one single word in their minds over and over. They are saying…Uh…they're saying…" She paused for a second to listen.

At that moment, in perfect quintet harmony, a collective moan rang out in the jungle around them. "GILLLIGANNNNNNNN!!!"

Ginger and Gilligan both leapt to their feet. There were footfalls coming up the path toward them like a stampede of wild…

"The zombies! They've found us," shouted Gilligan. He grabbed the radio and took Ginger by the hand. "This way. I'll save you!"

They ran down the path, hooting and hollering. Since they could temporarily read minds, they knew their hunters would not expect it. Zombies went flying in all directions as Ginger and Gilligan burst through their ranks and fled back down the hill.

They made their way back to camp. Ginger dashed into her own hut and began ransacking it for some decent clothing. Gilligan decided to check out the supply hut. The zombies had surely regained their focus by now and would be following shortly. He rushed in and looked around. Frantically, he began pulling some items together for a trap. Two minutes later he and Ginger had regrouped at the outdoor communal table in the center of camp. They could hear the zombies moaning through the jungle already.

"We don't have much time," said Ginger. "Did you get what we need?"

"Yeah. Shovels, a machete, some rope." He also was carrying a torch and a jug of lamp oil. He nodded at the bundle in her hands. "I see you found something to wear."

"Right. First stop the lagoon, so I can bathe and change. While I'm doing that, you can start building the trap."

"Hey! I'm the skipper. I'll give the orders around here. A woman's place is…" He stopped short and listened. "Ginger? Never mind, let's beat it!"

They took off and disappeared just before the zombies burst into the clearing at the edge of camp. Immediately the zombie five-some began milling around, looking confused again.

Ginger and Gilligan did not stop running until they had reached the lagoon. Ginger dropped her bundle on a rock near the edge of the water and began wading in. Gilligan watched for a minute before he realized he wasn't supposed to be. He swung around and studied the sand.

"First," he said, trying to concentrate, "build a trap." He looked at the tools and supplies he had brought. "…with these." Ah, now he had it. He ran up the beach a short ways, stuck the torch into the sand, and took the shovel. He would dig a pit, cover it with chopped palm branches and then catch all of the zombies at once. What a plan! He set to work digging. He was so involved in his work, he didn't hear Ginger calling his name until she began screaming it.

Startled, he came out of the pit. The zombies had caught the girl near the water. She had bathed and changed into a glamorous white satin gown with a feather boa, high heels and pearls. Leave it to Ginger to dress for an occasion. The zombies had gone right past Gilligan, not seeing him down in the hole, and zeroed in on the girl instead. Gilligan stared in horror as the zombies caught hold of Ginger, and pulled her down to the ground. They all crowded around her, leaning down and blocking his view. Ginger was lost from sight, and then her muffled screams were silenced.

Something snapped in Gilligan's head. Well, zombies or not, he wasn't going to let them get Ginger, too! He grabbed the first thing available at hand and rushed toward the group, waving the torch. The zombies turned on him and began getting to their feet again.

Gilligan rushed in and set them all ablaze. The zombies gave chase, lumbering after the boy, and Gilligan threw down the torch and stumbled back. His hand happened to catch hold of the jug of lamp oil as he went by and he ended up carrying it with him as he ran, not realizing he was holding it upside down. The zombies lumbered along after him through the jungle, setting fire to plants and trees every where the boy went.

Unwittingly, Gilligan's erratic escape route began to spell out giant letters in the jungle undergrowth. From an aerial view, the flaming trail read:

"**S O S**"

At that precise moment a helicopter carrying a crew of film-makers scouting for a remote shooting location happened to be flying overhead and saw the message. The crew came down and landed on the beach just as Gilligan came running out of the jungle. The boy saw the chopper and veered away, falling to the sand, afraid of being hit by the whirling blades. It was too late, however, for the zombies. They rushed out and…

Chunk, ch-thunk, clunk, thunk…plunk.

Their heads landed neatly in the sand around Gilligan and began talking excitedly.

"Gillliggann, Little Buddy," said Skipper's head, "I was only going to ask for my hat back."

"Ah, that's quite right, my lad," said the millionaire, "and Lovey and I only were going to request you check on Teddy. After the fire, we were distraught. Do you think he burned, too?"

"Oh! Look at the helicopter!" said the disembodied Mary Ann to the professor's noggin, "We are finally going to be rescued."

"And we owe it all to Gilligan," he replied, grinning through acid-cracked lips. "Hip, hip, hooray."

"I don't think so, Professor," said the astonished Gilligan, edging away. "Not 'hips' anyway. Not necks or arms or bodies, either." He army-crawled carefully away from the cheerful talking heads and over to the waiting film crew. They were just sliding out of the helicopter with their cameras to have a look around.

"I don't know if you can do anything for them," he said to the director, "but they've got a terrific bass section and could make some incredible harmony."

The film crew looked impressed. They had never seen five heads all talking at once. And to hear that they could sing as well. This was quite a find.

"Ginger, Ginger, we're saved," Gilligan called. He crouch-ran over to her where she was still lying at the edge of the lagoon, knelt down beside her and slapped her across the face. "I said, 'We're saved!'"

The movie star's eyes were closed tight, as though she was afraid to open them. She began to sit up. "Gilligan? Is that you?"

"Yeah, Ginger, it's me!"

Suddenly her lids snapped open and she gazed back at him with milky eyes. "Gillliggannnn!"

His eyes bulged, but he could not react quickly enough. The movie star pounced on him and tore him open. He lay in the sand bleeding as she then got up and rushed the helicopter crew. They, too, were taken by surprise. Ginger bit all. It was over in a matter of seconds. Voodoo or none, the amoeba had finally won.

--- ---- ---

The next day, the radio buzzed uselessly to itself. No one was around to hear the news when it came.

_Two years ago the world was shocked by the tragic loss of small touring yacht, the SS Minnow, its crew, and passengers on a scheduled three-hour charter out of Honolulu—among them, celebrity actress, Ginger Grant, and famed millionaire Thurston Howell the Third. Today six of the seven castaways were welcomed back to civilization after being rescued from an island exile by horror film director Hugh Banks. Banks says he is planning a new picture starring Ginger Grant, who seems ready to return to her career with even more enthusiasm than we knew from her before. She was seen passionately hugging necks and kissing adoring fans who came out en masse this morning to welcome her back with open arms. As for the Howells, they surprised the world with their announcement to also go into show business along with three other members of those rescued today. They are calling themselves "The Five Singing Heads" and will be giving a concert tonight. Details to be announced._

_In other news, local hospitals were flooded this afternoon with more cases of Island Madness. It appears the sickness is spreading. Doctors fear an epidemic and express concerns about drinking water as the cause. They warn that extra precautions such as boiling should be taken to avoid drinking contaminated water._

_In sports…_

In a shallow, unmarked grave near the lagoon, Gilligan rolled over and tried not to listen. He wasn't interested in sports or news broadcasts at all. But when the music began to play again, he smiled to himself and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
